


in the darkness i was afraid, until i saw your light.

by sailorshadzter



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, Jon Snow is a Targaryen, Rhaegar Lives AU, jon x sansa - Freeform, jonsa
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-05
Updated: 2020-05-05
Packaged: 2021-03-03 01:41:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,299
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24016894
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sailorshadzter/pseuds/sailorshadzter
Summary: think of this as arranged royalty marriage, they like each other, they're willing to be wed for the good of their families, but they fight. they fight and they make up through angsty makeout sessions.rhaegar lives au.
Relationships: Jon Snow/Sansa Stark
Comments: 19
Kudos: 117





	in the darkness i was afraid, until i saw your light.

"We're going South." 

Every face in the room swivels upwards, surprise written on every face that stares back at him. Ned Stark clears his throat, casting a quick glance to his lady wife who has already heard these words but a few days prior. "To King's Landing?" Robb, his oldest boy asks, his dark hair the only sign of his Stark lineage. Like all of his children, save for Arya, he looks more Tully than Stark, but he is as proud of them as only a father could be. "All of us?" 

This is when Ned shakes his head, turning his eyes to his first born child, his son that will someday take over his role as Warden in the North. "Nay, not all of us." He turns towards his two daughters then, settled into their respective places across from one another. Sansa, his second born and oldest of his girls, stares back at him with her wide, Tully blue eyes. She is a young woman of seventeen, grown tall like a willow tree, with ivory features far too beautiful for the world in which they live. Arya is every bit different than her older sister, wild, like the wolves in the forest; she wears no gowns, she runs with the boys and swings a sword as well as the best man in Winterfell. He is as fiercely proud of her as he is Sansa, as he is all of his children. "Just Sansa," he says after a moment, turning his gaze to his oldest daughter, who's eyes widen with her surprise. 

"Me?" She questions, a perfectly sculpted brow shooting upwards. "Why, father?" 

Ned smiles, a smile which his three sons have been bestowed with, and nods. "I have heard word from Rhaegar Targaryen." Though he once fought against the Targaryen rule, Ned offered fealty to the new King of the Seven Kingdoms twenty something years ago when Lyanna begged it of him. His beloved little sister who died giving birth to her only child, a son that lives in King's Landing as the heir to Rhaegar's rule. "He finds it is high time that his son and heir marries." Something like recognition ripples across his daughter's face and she squares her shoulders with this new knowledge that rocks her. "He has proposed a bethrothal between Sansa and Aegon." 

From where she sits, Sansa is silent, though her mind is a whirlwind of thoughts. Marriage, she thinks, to Aegon Targaryen? She has always known she would marry eventually, but she thought perhaps to Theon Greyjoy, heir to the Iron Islands, or perhaps even a Dornish prince, not the heir to the Seven Kingdoms. Though she believes in stories of love, stories of handsome, brave knights, she knows her duty is to her family. She will do as she's bid, of course, even if there was a part of her that has always longed to marry a man for love and little else. "Does the thought of becoming queen not please you, daughter?" Sansa blinks, realizing only then that her father has spoken to her. Rather than speak against him, she puts on a brave face, I am a Stark, so I can be brave, she thinks as she smiles radiantly for her father. And then she speaks: 

"It pleases me, father." 

[ x x x ]

King's Landing is nothing like the North.

Though, she supposes she should have known that already, she's surprised all the same. In the weeks leading up to their departure, her mother had ensured she was well prepared for both the journey and the meetings she would endure upon arrival. Everything else... Sansa knew. She knows to curtsy, to smile prettily. She knows how to play the high bells and even the harp, her voice soft and sweet enough to make even the roughest of men smile. Sansa knows how to please men in a court, she knows how to be a lady, she's been one since three. 

But nothing in the world could truly prepare her for the man she is about to meet in the crown prince, Aegon Targaryen. 

"This way," the man leading them speaks, bringing her from her thoughts. The touch of a hand to her elbow is her father's and she sucks in a breath, holding her head high as they face a set of double doors that lead them into the throne room. It is empty, thankfully, aside from the man that sits upon his throne and the younger man that stands just behind him, lurking as if he wishes to be anywhere else. Together, she and her father approach the dais, though he is the one to step all the way forward, bowing low to the King that sits before them. 

"Welcome to King's Landing, Lord Stark." Rhaegar Targaryen speaks in a voice that is deeper than she anticipated, his silvery locks tied back with a sapphire ribbon that matches the doublet he wears. "I trust your journey went well." The king smiles but something tells Sansa it is not the most sincere of smiles. 

"Aye, your grace, it did. King's Road is easy to travel at this time of the year." Ned replies, offering a smile of his own. Regardless of his feelings inside, this man was his king and if he were to truly leave his daughter in his keep, then he would have to play nice. 

"Is this your daughter?" Rhaegar asks, his violet eyes suddenly falling upon the girl that stands behind Ned. "She is a beauty." He compliments, smiling for her. "Come closer, child. Let me look at you properly." He encourages and with the touch of her father's hand, she steps ahead of him and sinks into a low curtsy. 

From where he stands, Jon watches the girl come forward; though his face did not betray his inner thoughts, he's mesmerized by the sight of her. Hair like the color of a sunset, crimson yet gold, a fiery twist that leaves him breathless. She's dressed in a gown of the lightest shade of blue, it's sweeping sleeves embroidered with the famed winter roses of Winterfell. It's a modest cut gown, quite unlike those worn in King's Landing, though he finds he likes it more for that reason alone. Her gaze flicks from his father to him and their eyes meet, suspending time around him. "Rise up child. Aegon, stop being so rude. Come greet our lovely guest." Rhaegar speaks and Jon stumbles, having forgotten there was even anyone else in the room besides her. Clearing his throat, Jon does as he's bid, stepping foward so he might bow to the young woman and her father below him. "You must excuse my son, Ned you would think he to be yours, with how brooding and moody he is." 

Ned lets out a chuckle, though he knows what Rhaegar says is true. There is not a single trace of Targaryen in the boy, he is Stark through and through. He is Lyanna's son, looking more like Ned's own child than nephew. "He is like his mother in that." Ned says, which brings a small smile to the king's lips; he knows as well as anyone that his only living son is more like his mother than him. He is like Ned, in that fact, for Rhaegar has heard the rumors that all of his children but one favor their mother rather than him. "My youngest daughter, Arya, she is so like Lyanna you might think her to be hers, not mine." The men share a smile, mutual love for the long dead Lyanna Stark perhaps the only thing they truly have in common. 

[ x x x ]

When she wakes in the morning, it's from a dream of wolves and laughter. 

Though the images fade as she rises up from the bed, she cannot shake the strange sensation of familiarity from her mind. A maid comes in and helps her dress- the woman curtsies and speaks with her as the servants spoke to her own mother in Winterfell. Something felt strange about that, to be spoken to like a true lady, like something more than the daughter of a noble lord. 

When she's dressed for the day and her hair plaited into braids, she slips from her rooms, intent on exploring the palace that's to become her home. Or so her father says. A sigh escapes her and she pushes thoughts of marriage and the future from her mind, rather she focuses upon her new surroundings. The Red Keep is noisy even so early in the morning, bustling about with servants and courtiers alike. Rhaegar Targaryen keeps a full court, though there is no queen to keep it orderly or enforce any sort of etiquette, so some say it feels more like a town brothel then a royal palace. 

She takes her leave of the corridors and she steps out into the morning sunshine; it's far warmer here than in the North, even in summer. Her gown, though made more in a Southern fashion, still feels far too heavy for the heat. Now she understands why the women in King's Landing dress in silks and lawns and fine lace. Her footsteps lead her down stone steps and into a garden that stops her in her tracks. It's full of fresh, sweet smelling blooms in dozens of colors, dozens of styles. In fact, she's never before seen such a wide array of flowers and for a moment all she can do is swivel her gaze from left to right, taking in the sights all around her. 

But then she's on the move, making her way to the first bush that grows flowers in the softest shade of pink. When she leans in, it's so she can inhale their sweet, but subtle scent, a smile spreading across her face as she makes her way to the next bush and then even another one after that. In the distance, she can hear the sound of a fountain running and she decides that once she sees this final shrub she approaches, she might take a walk towards it instead. And so she leans over the bush that's littered with tiny white flowers, their scent surprisingly strong for flowers so small. 

From where he stands, Jon can't help but to watch her.

She's dressed in a gown of pale green, one which compliments her in a way that threatens to steal the very breath from his lungs. It is a gown of material unlike what they wear in King's Landing and he imagines her to be quite warm in it, despite the skin she dares expose. Unlike yesterday's blue gown, this one shows off her long, slender arms and when she turns her back to him, he can see it cuts low upon her back. Though he would very much enjoy watching her from afar, Jon finds his feet lead him in her direction, unable to help but wish to speak to her. And so... He does. 

"They are nothing like the blue roses of Winterfell, eh?" 

Jumping at the sound of the voice, Sansa spins around and finds herself face to face with the prince, who's Stark colored eyes are meeting hers without hesitation. "Prince Aegon," she greets softly, dipping him the appropriate curtsy for a man of his rank. 

"I prefer to be called Jon," he snaps, wishing he could push away the thoughts of her beauty. He's thought of little else since meeting her only the evening before. "I mean... My father is the only one who calls me Aegon." He clarifies when she flinches as if struck, so he's softer this time, feeling somewhat remorseful for his sharp tone. "I have heard the roses bloom even in the winter." She's raising up from her curtsy and her blue-eyed stare is intense, so much so that for a moment he must cast his own gaze skyward. 

"They do," she speaks softly, in a voice that reminds him of honey, sweet and slow. Her Northern accent is not so pronounced, not like her father's, and he attributes that to her strict, noble upbringing. He returns his eyes to her and finds she's smiling, her head tilting ever so slightly, which sends her red hair cascading across a shoulder. Yet again, he's stricken by the sight of it, wishing for a moment that he might reach out and touch it. He longs to know what it feels like against his fingertips. "My father says that even in the coldest of winters they've bloomed." She's smiling faintly, turning from him to reach out, gingerly brushing her fingers along the white petals of the blooms they stand before. 

"They were my mother's favorite flowers." The prince speaks and Sansa turns back to face him, blue eyes sympathetic in their gaze. "Or so I've been told." 

Sansa smiles, nodding her head. "They were," she confirms, thinking of the stories and memories her father has shared with her over the years. "My father says my younger sister Arya is quite like her, though only Arya is bold enough to refuse to wear gowns." Jon laughs at her words and she's surprised at how the sound warms her, fills her with a strange sense of happiness she can't really explain. "You look like her," she goes on, pinning him with those eyes of hers as she takes a single step closer. "You look like Arya and so you must look like your mother." It was true, there was not an ounce of Targaryen in him, though Jon could not say because up until these last two days, he's seen very little of his Stark family. Ned Stark made the rarest of trips South and Jon couldn't even remember the last time he'd seen his uncle in King's Landing. 

For some reason though, hearing Sansa say such a thing brings a happiness to him that he's never felt before. "Would you like to see the fountain?" He asks, rather than thanking her for her words, trying his best to play his role as well as she. Jon isn't stupid and he knows his father plans to see the two of them wed- though he's always thought to marry a woman for love someday when he was king himself, he knows he must do as his father bids. Just as she does. "It is one of the best spots in all of King's Landing." The truth was... He spent quite a bit of time out there in the gardens, one of the only places he could find a moment to himself. 

"That's where I thought to go next," she admits with a nod, falling into step beside him as they make their way down the path towards the center of the garden. "Wow," she murmurs as they approach the great stone fountain, it's height towering over the both of them. Water sparkles in the pool beneath and Jon watches as she leans over the edge to dip her ivory hand into the cool water, a smile curving on her rosy lips. Yet again, he finds himself enthralled by the sight of her, even more so in the bright summer sunlight. The South agrees with her, that is for certain. "It's beautiful," she says, straightening her spine and turning back to face the prince that stands beside her. 

"It is..." Jon agrees, softly, unable to stop the words before they slip from his lips. As if she understands, her cheeks turn red as the roses that grow behind them and she turns away, staring up at the fountain as if it truly is the most interesting thing in the world around them. "I hope you enjoy your time here in King's Landing," he speaks finally, the only words he can bring himself to say in the aftermath of the ones from before. She turns to him then, blue eyes widening ever so slightly. But then she smiles a dazzling smile, a radiant sort of smile that sends shivers down his spine. For a single moment, he sees the future, one of gold crowns and howling wolves. One that is happy, despite it all. 

"I think I might," she says after a moment and then Jon is smiling, too.

[ x x x ]

When she wakes the following morning, it is to a new handmaiden who is quick to smile at her lady, her brown eyes kind in her face. "Good morning, my lady," the woman says, turning from where she lays out Sansa's gown for that day. "My name is Shae," she continues, coming closer to the bed where Sansa now sits up, rubbing the sleep from her eyes. "The prince bid me to attend to you, if it pleases you." Sansa blinks, perhaps surprised, but she can't help but feel the draw to the woman. Shae has a face of someone she can trust, someone who would look out for her. She can't say how she knows, but Sansa knows Shae will be far more than just a handmaiden to her. "Ah, he also sent a gift," Shae says, reaching for what Sansa sees is a bolt of fabric in a beautiful shade of gray, a quality silk that she's never set her hands upon in all of her life. 

For a moment, she's speechless. 

Running her hands along the soft fabric, she sucks in a breath, already able to imagine the beautiful dress that she could make with such a fabric. She squeezes it against her chest, eyes closing as she reminds herself that this is in fact, real life. "Will you... Will you send him word of my thanks?" She asks her maiden, raising her gaze to meet Shae's as she slips from the bed, the bolt of silk still clutched to her chest. Shae is smiling when she nods, turning from her lady to do as she's been asked, wondering if the young woman knew what sort of face she wore when speaking of the prince. She can't help but to wonder what the brooding prince would say if he knew how soft and sweet his future bride looked when thinking of him. 

Left alone in her chamber, Sansa gently sets the fabric aside and moves to the window that overlooks the city of King's Landing. Along the horizon, the sunrise is streaks of pink and red against the blue backdrop, though she notes it is not unlike the sunrise she's used to in the North. Perhaps... Living in the South would not be so bad. 

Down in his own chamber, two floors beneath hers, Jon too stands at the window. 

He watches the same sunrise as she, though fully dressed and prepared to escape the confines of his rooms. All night long he had dreamed of red hair and pale moonlight, of blood red leaves and bright blue eyes. Now that he's awake, Jon finds himself longing to be near her again, to talk to her, to feel the soft touch of her hand against his. He recalls his thoughts of only a few days prior, determined to hate yet another of the potential brides paraded before him. But there was something... Something far different about Sansa Stark that he couldn't quite understand.

But he wants to, he finds that he wants to know everything there is to know about her. He wants to know what makes her happy and even what makes her mad. Every little piece of her that she was willing to give to him, he wants, and he will accept. For better or for worse, he supposes, after all she was to be his bride in the end. And so he turns from the window and slips from his rooms, hoping his feet might just lead him to his destiny.


End file.
